


Of the Spotless Mind

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Fate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amnesia fic heavily inspired by <i>The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Of the Spotless Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladycat777 (Ladycat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/gifts).



The sea is still today—one boundless pane of stained glass—and so very, very blue. Rodney digs his toes into the sun warmed sand and watches the beach from under a broad umbrella painted with gaudy yellow stars. Two disappointed teenagers with surfboards have stripped out of their wetsuits and are taking turns slathering baby oil on each other’s backs. An older woman walks her terrier along the dunes and down where the water licks at the sand, Rodney can see a man standing with his hands shoved in his pockets up to the black bands that circle his wrists. The man is dressed in black cargo pants and a black T-shirt and his dark hair is sharp and dangerous against the horizon. Rodney can’t look away.

The man stands motionless for a long while and then he trudges through the deep sand to the bus stop, his head down, his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses. Rodney gathers his folders and follows. He should get home soon anyway; he has papers to finish grading.

The man sits all the way at the back of the bus and slouches against the window. Rodney doesn’t know why but he chooses the aisle seat opposite and is startled when he hears himself say, “You look like you don’t want to be bothered, but it’s a long ride back into the city and I’m Rodney, by the way, and we seem to be the only passengers and I’ve never seen you at the beach before.”

“Your name is Rodney?” the man says when Rodney remembers to breathe and points to Rodney’s messenger bag. “Why does it say Meredith on your bag?”

Rodney rolls his eyes. “That’s my middle name. Meredith. Go ahead. Make a joke. Get it out of your system.”

The man leans forward. “Don’t know what joke to make. I’ve never heard that name before.” He takes off his sunglasses and his eyes are so familiar that for one moment Rodney is certain they must have met before. “I think it’s pretty.”

@@@

Rodney’s apartment is roomy but crammed with books and articles he’s printed off the net. He kicks the dirty towels piled in the entryway into the laundry room before John can see them and motions John inside. He hopes John won’t ask him why the only door in the place is the front door; Rodney hates to explain that he kept walking into them as if he expected them to open magically. Taking all the doors off their hinges seemed much easier than concussing himself on a daily basis.

John wanders into the living room as Rodney clears the kitchen table of coffee mugs and pizza boxes. “Do you want a drink?” Rodney asks.

“I’ll take a beer,” John says.

Rodney opens two Molsons and brings one to John who is busy rifling through Rodney’s DVDs and pulling the ones he likes aside. John clinks his bottle with Rodney’s and takes a long swig of beer, his head thrown back and his throat working as he swallows. 

Rodney coughs. “I don’t even like that movie,” he says, nodding towards John’s pile. “My sister gave it to me to piss me off.”

John says, “Let’s watch it.”

Rodney has never been so entertained by Michael J. Fox and Christopher Lloyd. He blames this entirely on John. “You have got to be kidding me,” he says, throwing his hands into the air. “That violates every physical law known to man.”

“Einstein’s theories allow for time travel,” John counters.

“To the future. The past? Not so much.”

“Seems like the past is the only place you’d ever really need to go.”

“Why’d you come back here with me?” Rodney says abruptly.

John shrugs. “You seem like a nice guy.”

“I am not a nice guy. I’ve reduced undergraduates to their component atoms with a single phrase. If you lined up all the people I’ve made cry in the past forty years, you could loop around the moon and back. Nice. Ha.”

John grins, lazy and like he’s exactly where he wants to be. “Oh, yeah. You’re a badass, McKay.”

John’s expression is fonder than it has any right to be considering that they met only five hours ago and Rodney cannot shake the ridiculous gut feeling that he and John have known each other for years.

“Come on,” Rodney says, hauling John up off the couch with one hand. “I want to show you something.”

@@@

Rodney walks them down the beach until the streetlights are just a distant orange smear on the skyline behind them and then he pulls John down into the hollow of a dune. John tucks in beside him and Rodney stretches his opposite arm wide, as if to make a snow angel in the sand.

“Look,” he says.

The stars are low and close, a thousand candles suspended in the fathomless black. They make Rodney feel small and amazed. John turns his face into the crook of Rodney’s neck and breathes, warm and wet, until Rodney fists one sandy hand in John’s black T-shirt and kisses him.

They kiss for what seems like hours, John licking into Rodney’s mouth, his hips rolling against Rodney’s, pressing him down into the sand. Overhead the stars pale and the sky turns grey and then to pink and still John and Rodney kiss, John’s thumb rubbing slow circles on Rodney’s cheekbone.

@@@

“I met this guy,” Rodney says through a forkful of lasagna.

Sam pours them each another glass of wine and passes Rodney the rolls. Her hair is slung over her shoulder in a low braid, the longest Rodney has seen it since they met, and he thinks the look suits her. “That’s great, McKay,” Sam says. She leans in over her plate of spaghetti and raises one eyebrow. “So, dish. What’s he like?”

“His name is John Sheppard. He’s a pilot. Or he was. Now he teaches self-defense classes at the Resource Center.” Sam looks increasingly concerned as Rodney speaks, her earlier good mood evaporating. “What?” Rodney demands. “You’re always nagging me to meet people and so what if this guy isn’t an academic. It’s not like he’s stupid.”

Sam sighs. “No, Rodney. It’s not that. I just think . . .” She pauses and closes her eyes briefly before continuing. “What do you really know about John? Where did you meet him?”

“At the beach.”

“Has he lived here long?”

Rodney frowns. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. What does it matter?”

Sam twists her napkin into shreds as they talk and she shifts in her seat constantly as if she can’t find a comfortable position. In almost ten years, Rodney has never seen her this agitated. 

“Oh my god,” Rodney says. “Are you jealous? You’ve only rejected my advances an astronomical number of times. You can’t possibly expect me to drop everything now just because you’re finally ready.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “In your dreams, McKay.” Her tone is exasperated and familiar but Rodney won’t allow himself to feel relief. Sam takes his hand and smiles a sad smile and before she even opens her mouth, Rodney pushes back from the table.

“I can’t do this right now, Sam. Whatever this is, I can’t.” He tosses two twenties on the table and leaves. While he’s waiting for a cab, Rodney watches Sam drink the rest of the wine and smooth the wrinkles from the bills with the edge of the table. Rodney knows her flight leaves for Colorado in six hours and that he won’t see her again for months. He can’t bring himself to care.

That night Jeannie calls.

“I suppose I have Carter to thank for this intervention,” Rodney says into the receiver.

“Mer, I just don’t think a relationship is a good idea right now. You’re still fragile.”

Rodney closes his eyes. “I’m fine. So I had a nervous breakdown. I’m fine now. Perfectly fine.”

“You don’t remember,” Jeannie says and suddenly somehow his sister is crying. “You don’t remember being tied down and screaming the same word over and over until your voice gave out. You don’t remember clawing your arms bloody. You don’t remember, Mer.”

“No,” Rodney says and pinches the bridge of his nose, hard. “I don’t remember. But John makes me feel . . . I don’t know, Jeannie. He makes me feel.”

Jeannie is quiet for a long time and only the lack of a dial tone lets Rodney know that she’s still on the line. “Be careful,” she says finally, in a voice that breaks Rodney’s heart. “Please be careful.”

@@@

Rodney dreams of John almost constantly now. When he wakes he remembers fragments—the strange weight of a pistol in his hand, a roiling cloud of black smoke, water rising past his knees—that add up to no whole Rodney understands.

“What’s happening to us?” he says into John’s shoulder blades, into the sweat slick skin of John’s back. 

John’s breath hitches when Rodney bites down, a sweet sharp sting of teeth that Rodney soothes away with his tongue. “I don’t know,” John says. “I feel like I’ve known you forever. Like we had another life I’ve forgotten.”

Rodney slides one slippery finger into John, feels John clench around him and push back onto his hand. Rodney fucks him like that for a long time, the steady thrust of his fingers in John’s ass, until John makes a broken sound in the back of his throat and begs Rodney for his cock. “I can almost remember,” he pants into the sheets. “Almost.”

Rodney runs his hands along the curve of John’s spine and down his trembling thighs. “Let me help you,” Rodney says. “You make me think of Ferris wheels and blood and, and a sky full of moons,” and John comes hot and messy into Rodney’s hand.

Rodney wakes up to John rolling him off the bed with one hand over Rodney’s mouth. “Shhh,” John says. “I think there’s somebody in your apartment.”

Rodney picks up the phone but the line is dead and only John’s grip on his arm keeps him from screaming when four people dressed in military gear step across the threshold and into his bedroom.

One of them says, “Dr. McKay, Colonel Sheppard, please come with us.”

“Like hell,” John says and shoves Rodney behind him. Later Rodney will remember the lethal power of John’s body in motion before he falls, but for now all he sees is a burst of blue light and John crumpling onto the hardwood floor.

“Please, Rodney. I don’t want to have to hurt you,” another says, and when she steps into the moonlight, Rodney recognizes Sam.

@@@

“What have you done to him?” Rodney demands. He hugs his arms to his chest and refuses to let himself acknowledge how far underground they are, how many weapons these people are carrying, how motionless John lays on his narrow hospital bed.

“He’s only stunned, Rodney. He should wake up soon with nothing worse than a headache.” Sam reaches for his arm and Rodney flinches away. “I promise.”

“And that means what to me exactly?” 

John stirs, and Rodney glares at the nurse until she backs off. “Hey,” Rodney says. “How do you feel?”

John sits up gingerly and presses the heel of his hand to his temple. “Just peachy.” He takes in the room, the strange equipment, the uniforms. “Where are we?”

“You’re in the SGC. Sorry, Stargate Command,” Sam says. “You both used to work here.”

Rodney suddenly thinks he might throw up. “Oh, god. You made us forget. You took our memories and then you pretended to be my friend. How is this even possible? Who are you?” Bile rises in Rodney’s throat, hot and bitter.

“You wanted this, Rodney!” Sam’s voice echoes off the steel walls, loud and damning. “You both wanted this.”

John shakes his head. “I would never—”

Sam interrupts. “You were both members of an expedition to a remote outpost. The only survivors. And when we got you back, neither of you could live with what you’d seen, what you’d done.” Rodney is shocked by her red-rimmed eyes, the tears that drip from her chin to soak the collar of her shirt. She calls up a program on the computer next to John’s bed. “If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.”

An image of Rodney fills the monitor. He is strapped down to a gurney and he is screaming. “John!” he screams, again and again. “John! John!” until his chin is wet and messy with spittle, until his voice fades. Even then, he moves restlessly, straining against the bonds, jerking and arching his back and flexing his muscles. 

Rodney can’t speak. He feels in his gut that what Sam shows them is truth, even if he doesn’t remember it happening, and Rodney knows for certain that he doesn’t want to remember this. 

Sam clicks the mouse and Rodney turns away from John throwing himself against a padded wall; this is nothing he needs to see. Rodney can’t close his ears, though, and so he hears John sobbing—this truly horrific sound of despair that Rodney never wants to hear again. 

“Turn it off,” John whispers and then Rodney hears only John’s ragged breath and Sam sniffling.

“I am your friend, Rodney. And yours, too, John,” Sam says. “And if you want these memories back, I’ll do my best—”

“No,” John says, and the ache in Rodney’s chest eases just a little.

@@@

“What now?” Rodney says, stretching his legs out across the sand.

The sea is frosted over with whitecaps, waves slopping up against the shore, foam breaking on the pier. John doesn’t answer, but he takes Rodney’s hand and together they watch the wind slowly die and the water smooth over into something like calm.


End file.
